


After Action Reports

by GrizzBe



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Hospitals, Meeting the Parents, Nightmares, One Shot, One Shot Collection, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-06-30 23:32:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15761997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrizzBe/pseuds/GrizzBe
Summary: A collection of one-shots following everyone's favorite IMF team.





	1. At the Races

_ Here we are! My first prompt fic, courtesy of the lovely ilsafausts! I’m finally moved in enough to where I feel like I can write some so hopefully, I’ll be getting to a few more prompts soon. I’ve gotten quite a few good ones and I’m excited to write them out! Really quick, just so no one is confused, the Royal Ascot is one of the biggest horse races in the world, held in Ascot about an hour west of central London. If you have a prompt of your own, please feel free to leave a comment! _

* * *

Ilsa and Ethan walked arm-in-arm, roughly 20 meters behind their mark, blending in perfectly with the crowd that had gathered for the Royal Ascot. This year’s race proved to be just as big as all the previous years, with some of Europe’s biggest names in industry and media showing up, along with the usual appearance of the English Royal Family.

“Did I have to wear this penguin suit?” whispered Ethan, trying his hardest not to remove his jacket with its ridiculous coattails. “I’ve seen at least a dozen people wearing normal suits.”

“Yes, but none of them are going to the Royal Enclosure, which is where our fancy mark, Mr. Rahm, is headed,” buzzed in Benji over the comm link.

“And by the looks of it, you should’ve taken the hat, too,” chimed in Luther, sitting at a cafe table, discreetly watching the two partners and Mr. Rahm from the public thoroughfare.

“Over my dead body,” replied Ethan, eyeing a few of the goofy-looking top hats sitting atop some equally goofy-looking gentlemen.

“Come on now, Ethan,” said Ilsa, her own massive and gaudy hat flapping gently in the wind. “If I have to wear this abomination, you could definitely manage a top hat.

Ethan couldn’t help but smile at the woman on his arm who, despite the hat, looked as radiant and commanding as she always did.

“I don’t know, Ethan, I kind of like it,” said Brandt, wearing the full regalia while waiting for Rahm inside the enclosure.

The team was as relaxed as they ever managed to be on an operation. This op, in particular, had all the hallmarks of being a simple pickup-and-go. Ethan and Ilsa probably could’ve dealt with the entire operation on their own, but the rest of the team jumped at the opportunity to attend one of the major social gatherings in the United Kingdom. 

Rahm brought no security with him, he wasn’t even aware that he was wanted for questioning by the IMF, and the added security with the Royals present made it difficult for any other party to move any more aggressively than them, which is to say, not aggressively at all. It would take a monumentally stupid group of terrorists to attempt anything on these grounds.

None of that was to say that crazed armed terrorists didn’t try something monumentally stupid on a regular basis, which was why the team was only mildly relaxed. While Rahm was involved in shady dealings with groups that several intelligence agencies around the world would like to get their hands on, Rahm himself, however, was generally harmless.

Ethan and Ilsa made their way through the security for the Royal Enclosure, keeping Rahm in view while staying far enough back to not arouse his suspicion. The pieces were almost in place for the two to make their move, Ilsa would approach Rahm, engaging him in conversation before Ethan would walk behind him and prick him with the syringe, rendering him incoherent and looking intoxicated to the other guests. It was a tried-and-true tactic that worked perfectly as long as everything went to plan. The fact that it almost never went to plan was not lost on the team.

“Ilsa! Dear!” came a shout from behind them.

“Um, what was that?” said Benji, quickly flipping through security feeds, trying to find who had burned one of the IMF agents.

“I can’t see where it came from,” said Brandt, moving with purpose to get a better angle.

Ethan gave his partner a quick glance, Ilsa had gone pale, a look of genuine fear coming over her face. Ethan had seen Ilsa go toe-to-toe against some of the most dangerous people on the planet with a smile on her face and the only thing that kept him from dropping into an aggressive stance to take on their attackers was the vice-like grip that she now had on his forearm.

And, just like that, Ilsa’s smile came back, her grip relaxed and she turned to face the unknown assailants. Ethan turned with her, his body tense and ready to strike at anything, and came face to face with an older lady and gentleman, both of whom bearing a striking resemblance to the team’s British agent.

“Mom, dad,” said Ilsa, disengaging from Ethan to give her parents a quick hug and kiss. “I didn’t know you would be here.”

“Wait, did she just say ‘mom and dad’?” asked Brandt, moving with just a little more purpose while also keeping an eye on Rahm.

“She did!” said Benji a little too excitedly, quickly working through the cameras to see which one offered the best view. “Mr. and Mrs. Faust in the flesh! No offense, Ilsa, but I was not unconvinced you hadn’t been developed in a super-secret laboratory where MI6 developed super spies.”

“Oh, we weren’t supposed to be, our meetings were canceled at the last minute,” explained Ilsa’s mother.

“Lucky for us, your mother and I hadn’t given away our tickets yet,” said Ilsa’s father. “We always love to come, reminds us of when you had dreams of becoming a jockey.”

“Not a jockey, dad,” said Ilsa, flushing a bit at how much Ethan appeared to be enjoying the drastic turn the operation had now taken.

“Oh, we’re just teasing dear,” said Ilsa’s mother, a warm maternal smile on her face, before turning to Ethan. “Ilsa used to compete in dressage, you see, Mr...”

At the prompt, Ethan quickly extended his hand, giving Ilsa’s parents a firm shake, “Hunt, Ethan Hunt.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hunt, I’m Elizabeth,” said Ilsa’s mother. “And this is Philip.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” said Ethan.

“Ethan is my partner,” explained Ilsa. “He actually didn’t know I used to ride.”

“She would’ve made the Olympic team, too, had she not decided to pursue business,” said her father, taking on the airs of a father who would’ve been proud of his daughter regardless of what she achieved but who had gone on to achieve plenty.

“So, partner, Mr. Hunt?” Ilsa’s mother asked, gently interrogating the man whose arm Ilsa still held on to. “Partner at the firm or..?”

“Oh god,” breathed Ilsa, her cheeks turning a touch more crimson than they already had been. “Romantic partner, mom. Now, please...”

“Luther, that cafe you’re at doesn’t happen to have any popcorn, does it?” asked Benji.

“Unfortunately not,” replied Luther, laughing to himself. “I’m just sad I can’t witness this go down.”

“Oh really?” began Philip his eyebrows shooting up in pleasant surprise. “You must be quite the man, Mr. Hunt-” 

“Please, it’s Ethan,” interjected the IMF agent.

“Oh, well Ethan, it’s been a long time since our Ilsa has ever referred to someone as her partner,” said Philip.

“Not that we haven’t tried to introduce her to several of our friends’ eligible children,” continued Elizabeth. “She can be a little too strong-willed for her own good, sometimes.”

“Not that that’s a bad thing,” said Philip. “Ilsa knows what she wants and we wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Oh, believe me, I know,” said Ethan, the three of them sharing a laugh while Ilsa looked for exits.

“Well, before I die of embarrassment, I’m going to get us a drink,” said Ilsa, leaning into Ethan for a quick peck on his cheek while taking the syringe from his pocket. “What will it be  _ honey _ ?”

“I’ll take a Brynn Collins,” smiled Ethan, who turned back towards Philip and Elizabeth as his partner walked towards the bar and their mark, Rahm.

“Alright Brandt, Ilsa has the syringe and she’s moving towards Rahm now,” said Benji, watching everything on his monitor.

“On it,” said Brandt, putting on his game face as he gently doffed his top hat and move to intercept Rahm.

The actual drugging went off without a hitch. Rahm barely even noticed the slight prick in his thigh, completely distracted by the gorgeous woman with the auburn hair brushing past him on her way to the bar. Before she had even finished ordering her’s and Ethan’s drinks, Rahm’s speech was slurring.

“We always knew that she was going to succeed in whatever she did, but to be a VP in the entire European section of the firm at her age,” began Elizabeth, beaming with motherly pride. “She’s first-in-line to take over when her boss retires, as well.”

MI6, of course, went to great effort to provide covers for their agents and an executive at a multi-national financial firm had a built-in excuse to travel around the world. She was still using her MI6-provided cover until her transfer to the IMF was formalized, though. Then Ilsa would be a highly successful financial executive at one of IMF’s many shell companies.

“And what is it that you do, Ethan?” asked Philip.

“I run a consulting firm out of London,” said Ethan, providing his own cover, one that he had had for years with the IMF. “We do business worldwide, but one of the perks of being the man in charge is that I get to delegate the jobs I don’t want and take the ones I do.”

“Has Ethan ever turned down a job,” asked Luther as he took a sip from his coffee.

“Not that I know of,” replied Benji. “Get ready for extraction.”

“Is that so,” asked Elizabeth. Before she could continue her line of questioning, however, a commotion erupted over at the bar. An apparently drunk Rahm had taken a go at Ilsa, who had promptly slapped him, much to the consternation of the race-goers around them.

When Rahm didn’t take the hint, Ilsa had no qualms decking him with one punch, which only served to rile up more of the bar’s patrons.

“I heard that from here,” Luther almost shouted, trying his hardest to contain his laughter.

“Oh, my heavens,” started Elizabeth, a mixture of pride and concern coming over her.

“I wouldn’t worry about your daughter,” said Ethan. “She takes Krav Maga classes three times a week, she can handle herself.”

“Of course she does,” stated Philip, unsurprised that his daughter, who ostensibly ran a department covering an entire continent, would find the time to learn a deadly martial art.

The actual number of times she practiced was at least once a day, the bruises covering Ethan’s body bearing witness to their numerous sparring sessions, but he felt that a little discretion was necessary at the moment.

Off at the bar, Brandt was settling everyone down, ensuring those around them that his good friend, Rahm, had simply had one too many cocktails and that he would be taking him out for some fresh air. Ilsa had retrieved her drinks and made her way back to the group, only mildly steamed.

“Is it about time to leave, honey?” asked Ethan, giving his partner an out from the situation if she wanted it.

“No need, Ethan,” exclaimed Benji. “Brandt and Luther already have the package headed for the van, we’ve got it from here!”

“Oh Ilsa, please, join us,” said Philip. 

“Yes, we’d love to hear more about what you’ve been up to and get to know Ethan better,” finished Elizabeth.

Ethan cocked an eyebrow at Ilsa, leaving the ball in her court. Ilsa replied by handing Ethan his drink and slipping her arm into his again, smiling. It would be good to catch up with her parents and she had warmed quickly to the idea of her parents meeting Ethan.

“I think we can stay a bit,” said Ilsa, gently resting her head on Ethan’s shoulder.


	2. Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ethan is visited by the Ghosts of his past. Can Ilsa bring him back?

_Thanks to anon for the "Nightmare" prompt! This one took a bit of a darker turn than the last one but it was certainly fun to write. I just hope I did it justice! Hope you guys like it and be sure to let me know what you think and if you have any prompts that you’d like me to take a look at!_

* * *

 

Ethan found himself in the dark, unable to see a thing. Still, he was overwhelmed by the sense of vastness in the darkness, of empty. He spun around, trying to find something, any point of light that he might head towards. There was nothing until an elevator appeared just ahead of him.

Ethan approached cautiously, his years of training firing every synapse in his brain that he was walking into danger. He had no weapon but the doors were his only way forward, his steps echoing in the cavernous space. He hit the button to go up, ready for anything and was surprised when the doors simply opened to an empty compartment.

He stepped in and saw that there was only one button at the top, he pressed it and stepped back as the doors closed.

“You could’ve stopped this, Ethan,” said a voice that came out of nowhere. Ethan threw himself into the corner of the elevator, looking for the source of the voice, intent on defending himself.

“You should’ve known,” the voice said. “You could’ve saved everyone.”

Ethan looked up, the ceiling of the elevator car was grated and he could see a shadowy figure standing on top of it, the only feature on its face that was clearly visible a socket where the left eye should’ve been. The elevator began to speed upwards, the air rushing past.

“I… I didn’t know…” said Ethan. “I couldn’t have known...”

The speed of the car was pressing Ethan down to the floor, the figure still stood tall.

“You could’ve stopped this,” was all it said, then the figure looked up, the top of the elevator shaft rushing towards them.

“No!” Ethan shouted, but the elevator had come to a jarring halt, the figure was gone.

The doors opened, revealing a cobbled street shrouded in darkness. He took a tentative step out, still shaken, when a blood-curdling scream rung from an alleyway. Ethan sprinted towards it but found the source of the scream slumped over by a gate, the only thing visible the knife wound in its abdomen and the blood spilling out of it.

“We were supposed to walk away, Ethan,” the voice said weakly. “You might as well have stabbed me yourself.”

“The list… We couldn’t…” said Ethan weakly, his protests tasting like ash on his tongue.

“Everyone… Dead…” said the figure as the scene around them morphed from an alleyway into a train, the figure crystalizing into Claire, holding her abdomen as the gunshot wound continued to bleed.

Ethan ran to her, held her, cried over her like he couldn’t before, cried over every death that weighed over his head. Another figure stepped from the shadows, causing the hairs on the back of Ethan’s neck to stand on end.

“This is what happens, Ethan,” said Jim Phelps, his old mentor, his first real nemesis. “You can’t protect them, Ethan. All of your efforts only delay the inevitable.”

“No-”

“You’re destined to hold everyone you love in your arms as they die,” Phelps continued. “Whispering to them that they’ll be okay. That everything will be okay.”

“You’re wrong…”

“Their only chance is to get away from you,” said Phelps. “But even then, just knowing you condemns them to a hard life, always looking over their shoulder, always on the knife’s edge.”

“No!” Ethan shouted.

Ethan woke up, immediately going for his gun, his breath raspy in his chest and his shirt drenched in sweat. Next to him, Ilsa held her own pistol at the ready, steadily lining up the most vulnerable points in the room, where attackers were most likely to breach.

“What was it? Did you hear something,” asked Ilsa, straining to hear what might have startled her partner out of his sleep but only hearing the normal late-night noises of central Paris.

When Ethan didn’t answer and no masked attackers rushed into their room, Ilsa slowly lowered her pistol back to her bedside table and turned to him. He sat motionless on his side of the bed, still breathing heavily, still holding his pistol at the ready. Ilsa gently took the pistol from his grip, leaning over to place it on his own bedside table.

She took his cheek in one hand, his hand in the other, “Ethan, what’s wrong?”

Ethan closed his eyes, clinging to the warmth of her hand against his cheek, squeezing her hand in both of his, “Nothing.”

“Ethan,” Ilsa said, trying her hardest to read his expression in the dark, her voice warm and caring.

“I can’t…” started Ethan, Phelps’s words still ringing in his head. “I can’t protect you…”

“Ethan…” said Ilsa, softly.

“Maybe for now, maybe for a year,” said Ethan, his breath rattling slightly in his chest. “But eventually, I’ll mess up… I’ll be a step too slow… an inch off… and Benji and Luther and Brandt and… you…”

“Ethan, look at me,” said Ilsa, taking his face in both of her hands, drawing his eyes back to her. “I don’t need you to save me.”

She laughed a little, earning herself a crack in the walls that Ethan had shored up in his sleep.

“And neither does Brandt, or Luther, or even Benji,” said Ilsa, this time earning a quiet laugh from her partner. “But none of us feel as safe as we do than when you’re near.”

Ethan’s breathing had returned to normal, his eyes focusing on her. Ilsa leaned in and Ethan met her halfway, their lips brushing against each other at first before pressing firmer, more passionate, parting only after Ethan’s world had returned to normal.

Ethan looked into Ilsa’s eyes and found his strength, “Thank you.”

She smirked at him as if she hadn’t just thrown him a lifeline as the ocean threatened to drag him under, “You’re welcome, Mr. Hunt. Now, sleep.”

Ethan squeezed her hand once more before settling back down, Ilsa resting her head on his chest, her hand lazily tracing the lines on his abdomen before her arm came to a rest around his waist.

Ethan breathed in the piney scent of her hair, closing his eyes. The ghosts wouldn’t come back tonight. Maybe in a week, maybe a month, but he felt reassured that he’d be able to face them as long as this amazing woman was at his side.


	3. Seen Too Much

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benji is a walking ghost, can the team figure out what's wrong with him?

_ So, this is a short, dialogue-heavy one, but I loved the prompt and wanted to get it out! We’re also swinging way back to the other side of the light-and-fluffy/dark-and-heavy pendulum with this bad boy. I won’t spoil what the prompt was, because I really like the reveal and want y’all to read it clean. As always, if you have a prompt, feel free to message me! Let me know how y’all liked it! _

* * *

 

Benji walked through the big double doors that led into the warehouse where the rest of the team had already started the meeting. Other than soles of his shoes clicking ominously on the concrete, he was completely silent as he made his way over to the table. Without a word, he sat down, staring at the table, unable to look his team leader in the eyes. Luther and Brandt gave him a quizzical look, Ethan and Ilsa a more bemused one.

“Like I was saying, the op is low-risk…” started Ethan, after a second of allowing the group to return their attention to him.

“I’m sorry, Ethan, just a sec,” said Brandt, holding up a placating hand to his team leader while looking at Benji. “Benji, what’s up buddy? You’re never late.” 

“And why do you look like your mom just died?” asked Luther.

“It’s nothing,” said Benji, a little too quick. “If we could please, just, continue with the briefing.”

“Oh, now I’m interested,” said Luther. “Spill it.”

“I, just, didn’t get a lot of sleep, is all,” said the agent, shaking his head and flashing a look at Ethan and Ilsa.

“Uh-uh, that’s something,” said Brandt, looking back and forth between Benji and Ethan.

“Well, Benji might’ve…” started Ethan, shrugging his shoulders and holding his hands up, palms skyward.

“Benji walked in on Ethan and me last night,” finished Ilsa, giving her own matter-of-fact shrug.

“Oh no,” said Brandt, barely containing his laughter.

“Again?!” exclaimed Luther, his eyebrows shooting up as he slapped the table.

“I had just thought of something for today’s operation and I thought I’d run it by Ethan before going to sleep and...” said Benji, waving his hands in front of him in exasperation.

“The door was closed, Benji, I don’t know what to tell you,” said Ethan, after sharing a bemused look with Ilsa.

“Locks, Ethan, locks,” stated Benji, growing more red-in-the-face by the second. “It’s not like they’re a new thing. And isn’t locking your door a matter of operational security?”

With that, the rest of the table shared a hearty laugh at the look of serious consternation from the former analyst-turned-field agent.

“And what about last time?! Aruba,” said Benji. “That kitchen  _ had no doors, Ethan! _ I made sandwiches on that counter!”

Benji stabbed at the table with his index finger to exaggerate the point before withdrawing back to his seat, crossing his arms in frustration.

“Seriously, guys? The kitchen counter,” asked Brandt, the statement apparently a surprise to him but doing nothing to quell his laughter.

“Poor Benji,” said Luther, shaking his head. “Getting away from home and still walking in on his parents getting it on.”

“They are  _ not _ my parents,” said Benji, pointing back and forth between Ethan and Ilsa. “ _ My _ parents knew how to lock a door and they weren’t going at it like rabbits at every opportunity.”

“Guys, guys, quiet down, Benji’s obviously upset,” said Ilsa.

“Thank you, Ilsa,” said Benji, settling down a fraction.

“Now, do you want me to get you a juice or to tuck you in for a nap before we continue the briefing?” asked Ilsa, stone-faced in her delivery.

The question earned her a rude hand gesture from her British compatriot and riotous laughter from Brandt and Luther, Ethan simply smiled and rolled his eyes at his partner who simply smiled and tilted her head back at him.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough, that’s enough,” said Ethan, managing to somehow wrangle the briefing back on track. “I’m sorry, Benji, we’ll try to be more discreet in the future.”

Benji simply nodded in relief before Ethan continued with the briefing. The operation went off without a hitch and the mission as a whole was relatively simple, at least for the team, but Ethan’s promise would prove to be hollow within the week, Benji walking in on them in the briefing room while he was on his way to make a pot of coffee.


	4. Bedside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ilsa takes a round, the team takes care of her.

_Sorry for taking so long to update, everyone! I started grad school not too long ago and wanted to get the hang of being a student again before taking on another story. It’s not terribly long, but I enjoyed writing it regardless. An anon asked for a story of the team taking care of Ilsa after she was wounded and I think Ilsa and Brandt offer an interesting, fairly unused dynamic. If you have any other prompts, feel free to comment with them! I’ve got a few others I need to get to but I like having a handful to choose from. Be sure to let me know what you thought of the chapter!_

* * *

 Ilsa’s bed was moving. She was fairly certain beds shouldn’t do that, something about bed frames and building foundations being fairly firmly rooted in place but she couldn’t quite pin down the thought. Not with the searing pain radiating from her shoulder. None of this was even addressing the blinding lights that were flashing by and the shouting in her ear. Was that Ethan? And Luther? Couldn’t they quiet down just a bit? Ilsa was tired.

* * *

Ilsa found herself walking across a grassy mountain path, big trees towering above her on both sides as she made her way to a clearing up ahead. She closed her eyes and breathed in the scents of pine and fresh air, the quiet punctuated by sounds of chopped wood in the distance. As she reached the clearing, she saw a small cabin, a gentle puff of smoke rising from its lone chimney, a rustic fence ringed a small area around the cabin. A man in flannel stood off to the side, swinging an ax.  

As she walked closer, the man came more into focus. It was Ethan. Of course it was Ethan. As she closed the distance between them, he took notice of her, burying his ax into a stump and grabbing a rag to wipe the sweat from his face.

“Don’t feel like you need to stop on my account,” said Ilsa, propping herself against a fence post and taking in the view, a wry smile accompanying her hungry eyes.

Ethan smiled and shook his head before walking over and opening the gate, gesturing for Ilsa to head into the cabin. For her part, Ilsa rolled her eyes and started that way, passing her hand over Ethan’s as she walked past, giving it a light squeeze. The inside of the cabin was warm and cozy, a few streams of light coming from the windows, a fire crackling in the fireplace.

Ilsa breathed in the musky scent, she closed her eyes and let the warmth of it all envelope her. Ethan’s footsteps followed in behind her and she felt his hands moving across her back and resting around her waist, his chin nuzzling into her neck. She rested her head on his, enjoying a sense of peace that she hadn’t felt in years, humming in happiness. They stood there for a moment, enjoying each other’s closeness.

“You shouldn’t be here,” said Ethan, his calm voice belying his words. “Not yet.”

Ilsa’s eyes shot open, her body thrummed with adrenaline, something was wrong. She turned around to face him, his face a mask of concern, fear.

“What do you mean,” asked Ilsa, trying to make sense of the signs her body was sending her.

“You need to go,” was all Ethan would say. A white light started as a small point behind him and grew, blinding Ilsa.

* * *

 Ilsa’s vision slowly came into focus, the fog fading and revealing a plain ceiling, a fan gently rotating above her. Then she heard the rhythmic beat of the machine next to her bed. Her mind caught up to her, an EKG machine. She was in the hospital. Great. She groaned as she tried to prop herself up, a sharp pain shot across her body.

“Whoa, whoa, ease it up there,” came a voice from her bedside. “You took a round to your shoulder.”

Brandt materialized above her, easing her back down to her pillow. She tracked him as he checked her machine and fluid levels before retaking his seat next to her bed.

“How long,” asked Ilsa, her throat sore and dry from inactivity.

“About two weeks,” said Brandt, before sensing her next question and sparing her the effort of asking. “We cleared the warehouse, or we thought we had. They had dug out a room that hadn’t been on any of the plans we checked. One of them came out behind you, managed to get a shot off before Ethan put him down. Winged you pretty good.”

It came back to her, they had gone through the warehouse surgically. The whole team methodically eliminating threats from one end to the other, making their way to the dirty bomb that was rigged to go off at any moment. Benji and Luther had just disarmed it when she heard the report from a shot, quickly followed by another and then everything got a lot fuzzier.

“Where’s…” started Ilsa.

“Ethan?” said Brandt, making a relatively sure bet at what Ilsa was wondering. “He’s with Benji and Luther for his designated four hour break from sitting on this hard as hell chair.”

William motioned to the chair he was sitting on himself, a threadbare armchair that looked like it had been brought over from whatever ancient hospital this one had replaced. Brandt saw the look on Ilsa’s face and continued.

“Ethan didn’t move from this spot for the first week,” said Brandt. “No shaving, no showering, he looked like a wreck. It took another day for Benji to convince him to take a break. You know, take a shower, eat a hot, not-hospital-provided-meal…”

Brandt gestured to the tray of some sort of beige loaf that he had obviously been picking at.

“...Sleep on an actual bed for three hours,” Brandt continued. “The only way he would agree was if one of us took over each time, though. So here I am, sitting on what is obviously one of the first armchairs ever made.”

Ilsa smiled and laughed, her sore throat turning it into a cough. Brandt’s hand came up and grabbed her forearm.

“Whoa there, Ilsa, take it easy,” said Brandt. “I don’t really want to know what Ethan’ll do to me if you cough up a lung on my watch.”

Ilsa smiled and grabbed Brandt’s hand with her free hand. William smiled down at her, the two agents communicating wordlessly with each other in a language they had learned through hundreds of hours and countless missions spent watching the other’s back.

“No more getting shot, though,” said Brandt. “There’s no way we’ll be able to get Ethan away from your hospital bed again, especially not after you managed to wake up while he was gone.”

Ilsa managed a smile and roll of her eyes, squeezing Brandt’s hand before he sat back. While William wasn’t exactly the person she wanted to see most after waking up from a gunshot wound, she valued their camaraderie and he had a knack for making her laugh.

“How selfish of me,” she said, her voice soft but growing stronger. “Maybe next time, the terrorist will have the good grace to shoot me in the vest.”

“Not very considerate, those terrorists,” came a voice from the door. Ilsa and Brandt turned to find Ethan smiling back at them, Luther and Benji standing behind him smiling just as brightly to see their friend and teammate awake.

Brandt stood up and walked to Ethan, standing aside, “You’re early.”

“I had a feeling,” said Ethan as he walked past Brandt, never taking his eyes off of Ilsa’s as he reached her bedside. Ilsa quickly took his hand in hers, giving it a squeeze. Ethan’s other hand cupped Ilsa’s cheek and she nuzzled into it, enjoying the feel of his rough palm and callouses.

“We hadn’t even sat down at our table when he took off back here,” said Benji. “Even though he _promised_ he’d eat.”

“I’ll work on it,” was all Ethan managed through the smile that was cemented to his face.

“Alright, guys,” said Luther, herding Brandt and Benji out of the room. “Time to give these two some time alone.”


End file.
